


The "Hands" of a King

by kylohen, thedevilchicken



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Dark, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Necrophilia, Resurrection, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 21:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylohen/pseuds/kylohen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Aragorn's memory of traditional kingly healing methods leaves a lot to be desired.





	The "Hands" of a King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monday_shoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monday_shoes/gifts).



> Happy EAD Birthday Bash, monday_shoes! 
> 
> I know you said _DNW: you will know when you cross that line_ , but I think I might have crossed that line... hope you like it anyway!

"Well, that was different," Boromir says, as he rearranges his trousers. 

Aragorn smiles awkwardly. He supposes he can't disagree. 

There are holes in Boromir's coat that the arrows left when Aragorn pulled them out. His tunic is torn and bloody from the same. He should be dead. He _was_ dead, but Aragorn refused to let that stand.

He tried plants first, but chewed-up athelas in the wounds didn't do much to help; possibly because he'd already died. 

He tried mushrooms next, scavenged from underneath a bush nearby, but that didn't help much, either; possibly because he couldn't actually swallow them. 

He tried saying some of the healing words he knew, but _that_ didn't help; possibly because where Boromir had gone, he really couldn't hear them. 

Then, he remembered something the older Rangers had used to say, probably more legend than reality. He supposed it was worth a try.

Boromir woke up part of the way along, startled to say the least. He turned his head to spit out a mouthful of mushrooms, which he'd very nearly choked on, and Aragorn kept going just in case. 

Surprisingly, Boromir didn't seem to mind it very much, but that might just have been the athelas finally kicking in. He wrapped his legs around Aragorn's waist. He touched himself. He stifled a groan. 

And, when Aragorn was done, he sat back on his heels between Boromir's thighs. They looked at each other. Boromir brushed the mangled weeds off his healing chest. 

"Well, that was different," Boromir said, brows raised. 

Aragorn smiled awkwardly. Now, he tucks himself back in. 

"Merry and Pippin are fine," Aragorn says, as if that will take their attention off the obvious. It doesn't, though Boromir does seem relieved to know it. 

Then Boromir, once he's buckled his belt, stands and holds one hand out to him; Aragorn lets him help him up, but Boromir doesn't release him when he's done. He brings Aragorn's hand up, and he presses his mouth to his palm. 

His stubbled face prickles his skin. Aragorn shivers. When Boromir's mouth finds his instead, he doesn't object at all. 

"You know, _my king_ , these were drastic measures," says Boromir. His voice is low, by Aragorn's ear. "If you wanted to get me into bed, you should just have said so." 

There's a smile on his face when he stands back that he can't quite suppress and Aragorn snorts, amused. He turns to lead the way away. 

"And, Aragorn?"

He turns back. 

"It's _the hands of a king are the hands of a healer_." Boromir raises his brows. "Not the _glans_ of a king." 

Aragorn blushes, but Boromir just claps him on the shoulder. Maybe it turns out Aragorn has a terrible memory, but Boromir's going to be fine.


End file.
